The End Justifies the Past
by storyfan101
Summary: Sometimes it's not the means you have to worry about, but the beginnings.
1. Chapter 1

It started when Unwittingcatalyst asked "What would happen if...?" and then Purdys Pal sharpened her stick. Thanks so much to you both. This wouldn't have come about without you.

The usual disclaimers apply.

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><p>"<em>Change is inevitable - except from a vending machine."<em>

_~Robert C. Gallagher_

**Chapter 1**

Michael gave a deep sigh before he opened the driver's door. He eyed his mother's house through the windshield. It looked like a nice house to grow up in. Too bad looks could be so deceiving. He knew he should head in, the phone call had sounded fairly urgent, but it wasn't likely that he'd be dealing with plumbing today.

While he usually preferred parking on the street in front of his mother's house, that spot wasn't available this afternoon. An old, rusty Ford Taurus sat on the street at the end of his mother's front walk. Someone else must have needed the option for a quick get-away.

If he were to drive away right now, he knew his mother would just find another way to get to him. Michael pulled himself out of the driver's seat and closed the door behind him.

Wondering what his mother was planning, or more likely who she was abetting, Michael paused along side of the old Ford. Fifteen years ago, it was probably a popular shade of blue. Now it was a mixture of mottled hues of grey. The car must have been parked outdoors under the blazing Florida sun ever since leaving the car lot all those many years ago. Peeking through the side window, Michael could see that while the dash was faded, the interior was clean and organized. Pulling his own car key out from his pocket, he casually dropped it. As he was at ground level picking up the key, Michael noted that there were no signs of liquid dripping from the undercarriage. Pocketing his key, Michael felt his curiosity piqued. It took a lot of time and effort to keep these older cars in good running order. Short of popping the door lock and rifling through the glove box, Michael decided he wouldn't learn anything further from the car. He might as well go in and see what his mother got him into this time.

Quietly letting himself into the house, Michael was greeted by the sight of his mother sitting at her dining table, happily chatting away with a young woman.

"Mom," Michael plastered a smile onto his face for the benefit of his mother's guest. Willingly walking into a trap set up by his mother, and doing it happily, were not two things Michael could manage at the same time.

Madeline quickly rose and met him half way to the table. She had that warning look in her eye as she stepped up to him and gave his arm what would look like a loving squeeze, but was actually more of a strong pinch. With a warm tone she said, "I'm glad you could come so quickly."

He recognized his mother was still manipulating him and her guest and decided he could play along for five minutes. "When you call with dire predictions that the sink is about to overflow and I'll have an even bigger mess to clean up if I don't come right now, what's a loving son to do?"

"Michael," Madeline who still held his bicep in her grip, squeezed yet another warning, but maintained the smile on her red painted lips. She pulled her son further into the house and directed him to sit across from her company. With saccharin in her voice she said, "I want you to meet someone."

With his mother's hand sitting heavy on his shoulder, Michael smiled at the woman on the far side of the table. She smiled tentatively back.

"Hello," Michael said.

She nervously looked from his mother back to him. "Hello," she replied.

"Oh, there goes the buzzer on my dryer. You two just sit and get to know one another," Madeline rushed away to the call of phantom laundry.

Deciding to be done with this whole farce, "You're in trouble?" he asked, but it came out as more of a statement.

Her eyebrows lifted and hid under the light dusting of bangs across her forehead. "No," she seemed surprised by the assumption. "I was looking up a friend of my father's."

Michael was suddenly glad for his experience with hiding emotion. Otherwise he was sure his eyebrows would have done the same dance as this woman's had, just moments ago. He wondered what she and his mother were chatting about so amiably that his mother deemed this job his responsibility.

"You need help finding this friend?"

Again the young woman shook her head, but the beginnings of a smile started as she answered, "No."

Michael scrutinized the woman, trying to figure out what she and his mother were up to. She was in her mid twenties, twenty five at the most, pretty but not in the same league as Fiona. She relied on a light use of make-up and had a trim build and shoulder length, straight hair. Her clothes, while neat and clean, were out of date by a year or two. She was definitely the owner of the car outside.

"Who are you?" Michael asked.

"My name is Victoria," she answered, but then seemed to regard him with the same scrutiny he was giving her when she added, "My father was Angelo DiLeo."

That was a name Michael hadn't heard in years. He couldn't help the smile that formed before he remembered that Angelo had died, back in the day. "I'm sorry for your loss. Your father was a good friend."

Victoria nodded her head and sniffed, but managed to maintain a small smile. "He said the same about you."

He knew he had changed since those early days of his career. Very few of his relationships had survived the test of time. Looking back, he could only think of two. He liked to think that had Angelo lived, so would have their friendship.

"Your father passed away a long time ago," He had to allow for the possibility that Angelo's daughter was expecting someone that Michael had once been, long ago.

"Fifteen years ago," Victoria agreed as she became lost in her own private thoughts. She must have realized that Michael needed some explanations as she dug through her handbag and pulled out a handful of envelopes. "Letters from my father," she explained as she pulled a much worn piece of paper from the top envelope. "This one's my favourite." She got up from her chair and gently placed the letter in front of Michael. She pointed out the paragraph that mentioned his name.

"I've been very curious about my father. Mom's tried, but she's never been able to really answer my questions. I use to wonder if she made half of it up." Michael looked up to see Victoria with a sad, wistful look on her face. He had the feeling that the young woman didn't hold any resentment towards her mother for the deception. He wondered if he should ask for her therapist's phone number.

"How did you find me?" Michael asked.

"I've searched dad's letters over and over. This one," Victoria's finger tapped on Michael's printed name, "offers the most information. And you can see, that's not much."

Victoria sat down in the chair beside Michael. "It wasn't until I took a position as civilian support staff in the main office in Camp Blanding that I was able to gain access to files that had more details about some of the missions my father had been on. That's how I found your name. It took a little digging but I managed to find your Army application. It surprised me, but I was quite happy your mom has never changed addresses or her home phone number."

"Yeah, good ol' mom. Always there when you need her," Michael said through a forced smile.

Victoria looked as if she was going to ask a question, but Michael really didn't want to get into a discussion on families. At least not his.

"I was never a part of your dad's team," Michael changed topics as he passed the letter back to Victoria, who reached out tenderly to accept it. She looked as if she might lose herself in reading it again. "We worked together every now and again, but I didn't belong to any specific agency. Officially. You should talk to Sam. He and your dad were on the same SEAL team. I'm sure he'd come up with some great stories to tell." After a moment's pause, he added, "Just don't believe half of them."

It took a moment before Victoria was able to get her voice to work again. "Sam? You know Sam?" Victoria's eyes large with wonder. "I mean, I know you must have _known_ Sam, I gathered from dad's letters that you guys were all friends..." She became flustered. Her hands fell onto the table, the letter they had been holding forgotten. "But you _still_ know Sam?"

Michael got up and collected the pages that had fallen onto the floor. With great care he put them back into their envelope. He could only guess at the emotions playing inside the young woman. She seemed unprepared to find another of her father's friends so quickly. One who could tell her stories she longed to hear.

He could hear his mother returning from her fictional laundry and didn't want to explain that another man had written more details home about him than he had ever revealed to his own mother. Glancing at Victoria, she looked like she could use a few moments to pull herself together, and Michael was uncomfortable with the process. His mother could handle it though.

"Why don't we meet somewhere where we could talk more about this?" he offered.

Victoria's eyes, while watery with unshed tears, were grateful. "I'd like that."

Michael wrote out the address to Carlito's on the note pad his mother kept near the phone. As he was handing it to her, his mother walked into the dining area.

Madeline took one look at Victoria before she glared at Michael. He really didn't want to explain any of this to her. He started for the front door.

"I see you're handling things with your usual style, Michael," Madeline's tone was icy, to say the least.

"Ma," Michael paused just a few steps short of the door. He even took a step towards his mother before realizing that wouldn't get him where he wanted, which was out and away from this situation. So he did the next best thing. He appealed to her motherly instincts.

"Do you think you could…?" He didn't know exactly what he was asking for so he tried again. He indicated the upset woman, "Ma, she's…" He realized he didn't want to explain that either.

He took the only option he saw as being left open to him. "I gotta go. Bye Ma."

As the front door was closing behind him, he heard his mother's voice. Thankfully, her words weren't clear and he was able to get into the Charger and make good his escape.


	2. Chapter 2

My deepest thanks to Unwittingcatalyst and Purdyspal. One inspires and the other makes sure it gets done. I desperately need both.

Thanks to everyone for reading. Your time is greatly appreciated.

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><p><em>Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are.<br>__~Bertold Brecht_

**Chapter 2**

Stopped at a red light, Michael dialled Sam's cell.

By the second ring, Sam's cheery voice came over the line, "Hey there, Mikey." In the background Michael could hear a muttering female voice. Michael pictured Sam holding up his hand in apology with a crooked smile as he said, "I'll just be a moment, darlin', then we can get right back to that discussion."

Once the light changed, Michael was easily moving through traffic. Picturing his friend, Michael couldn't help the smile that started or the slight shake of his head. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"Oh no, it's fine. It's usually life or death when you call. What's a little interruption compared to that?" Through the phone, Michael could see the innocent face and the shrug Sam would be giving the woman.

"Can you meet me at Carlito's?" Michael asked.

"If that's what you need, I can make it happen." There was a click as Sam ended the call. He seemed awfully glad to be escaping from his afternoon date. Michael would make it a point to not ask. In an interrogation, you don't stop until you have even the smallest details. With a friend, sometimes you're just better off not knowing.

A few minutes later Michael was able to pull into an open parking spot directly across from their favourite hangout. As he entered the bar, the waitress gave him a friendly wave and gestured to a table that she had just finished cleaning. He acknowledged the spot with a smile and took his seat; angled so he could see both the main door and the entrance from the patio.

Leaning back in his chair, Michael mused about his earlier meeting with Victoria DiLeo. Thoughts of her father bringing up memories he'd locked away long ago. They worked together on several missions in Serbia, Bosnia and surrounding Yugoslav countries. They first met when Angelo had tagged along with Sam to one of their 'Congratulations!-We-survived-another-mission' nights. Michael's usual standoffish behaviour had succumbed to the joie de vivre of the two SEALs, and afterwards Angelo joined the small number of people Michael called a friend. The memories brought him to the time he heard of Angelo's death.

_It was during a de-brief with Raines after an information gathering job in Moscow. Raines asked what he knew about the dust- up between the SEALs and the terrorist group in the Bosnian mountains. Michael had to think as that was a few weeks back and several missions ago. _

_Though Michael and the SEALs had a different objective, the target was the same. They were focused on a terrorist cell hiding amongst a group of rebels in the mountains outside of Sarajevo. Michael was after information; the SEALs were to neutralize the threat. Michael was in and out and the SEALs seemed to have everything under control when he left on his CIA provided extraction chopper. _

_Raines filled him in; there had been a leak somewhere along the lines. Before the SEAL team completed their task, the terrorists had prepared a counter attack. It was a bloody battle. The SEALs managed to gain the upper hand and take the terrorists out. All things considered, the casualties were relatively light. The SEALs lost only one - Angelo DiLeo. _

The memory brought out a quiet sigh. Michael checked his watch and noticed that several minutes had slipped by while he was lost in his past. Just as Michael was wondering how long it would take his mother to pat Victoria on the shoulder and say 'that's all right, dear', he saw the old Ford parking across the street. Victoria exited the car and looked both ways before quickly crossing. She came up the steps from the sidewalk and took the seat next to Michael.

Their waitress noticed the additional customer and stopped at their table to take their orders. She asked if any of his friends would be joining them.

"Sam will be along shortly," Michael answered.

The waitress nodded, "Two iced teas and two beers, it is. I'll be back in a moment."

This was the kind of case he could get used to. Solved without any bullets flying; and within an hour of starting, it would be ended with some of Sam's tall tales and a cold drink.

Victoria glanced around the friendly bar before smiling her approval, "Nice."

"Sorry about leaving you with my mother," Michael started to apologize.

Victoria gave a soft laugh, "Oh please, don't worry about it. She's quite sweet. After I promised to stay in touch, she gave me directions here."

Michael could feel his heart pick up its pace. He had nothing against Victoria, but he couldn't help the feeling that crept over him. The very idea of how his mother might put the smallest pieces of his past together, correctly or incorrectly, made him nervous.

With a bright smile Michael suggested, "Sam can tell some pretty racy stories. My mother is on medication. It might be for the best if you didn't pass along too many details."

A thoughtful frown crossed Victoria's features. She seemed to be reconciling his mother's boisterous image with this bit of information. "Sure," she cautiously gave a slight nod of her head. "I won't pass along your boys' gossip."

Michael doubted Victoria believed his mother to be sickly, but she seemed to understand that he wanted to limit the spread of his personal stories.

"From what your mother was telling me, before you arrived, I thought you were very close," Victoria commented, a slight puzzled look on her face. "You don't seem to share that sentiment."

Michael was saved from a response as the waitress appeared, delivering their iced teas. Michael practically tore it from the waitress' hand.

"Great iced tea," he explained before he took a long gulp.

The waitress didn't comment as she placed Sam's beers on the table, but she did give him an odd look. Michael smiled around his straw, but continued to sip the drink, avoiding conversation for a few minutes more. He watched Victoria reach for her purse, but stop herself with a quick shake of her head, only to repeat the action one more time.

"You need something?" he asked, his paranoia keying up his senses. She didn't look like an agency type, but it would be hard to explain his poor deductions if he were dead.

A slight blush coloured her cheeks and she looked down at her hands, now resting on her lap. "Would it be too awkward if I took notes?" She reached back into her bag and pulled out a pen and a lined pad of paper, putting them on the table in front of her. "I really know very little of my father."

Definitely not an agency type. He couldn't hide the grin that spread across his face. Oh, Sam would owe him for this. This should count for at least the next three favours. A pretty young woman just _desperate_ to hear Sam's stories; she'd be hanging on his every word. If Fiona were here, she'd be looking for something sharp to deflate the ego boost this was going to give the ex-SEAL. That was a sobering thought. He'd have to keep those two apart for a day or two, before Sam's gloating got him killed.

Seeing his friend coming up the sidewalk, Michael quietly said, "You could ask him, but it may be better if you just wrote your notes under the table."

Victoria eyed him curiously, but moved her pen and paper off the table and slid them onto her lap, hiding them as he suggested, under the table.

Sam quickly weaved his way between tables. When he reached them, he stretched across the table to shake Victoria's hand and introduce himself. Whatever he had escaped from hadn't left any marks, Michael noted. Sam sat down and immediately took a drink from one of the bottles waiting for him.

"Ahh," Sam leaned back into his chair, looking grateful to be out in the sunshine. He looked over to Victoria with a quizzical look. "So, you're in trouble?" he asked, but it came out as more of a statement.

A small smirk appeared on Victoria's face as Sam had unwittingly started off with the exact words Michael had greeted her with. This time Michael wanted to be the one to spring the surprise and see his friend's reaction. He replied, "No, she's looking for a friend of her father's."

Sam's eyebrows rose, silently questioning Michael. He raised the bottle, but before drinking he asked, "This friend hiding out from a biker gang?"

Both Michael and Victoria shook their heads.

"Wanted by a Columbian cartel?"

They shook their heads again.

"A rich relative died and left him millions?" this asked with a hopeful grin.

Michael couldn't help the laugh that his friend inspired. He decided it was time to stop the games and give way to Victoria getting some answers.

"Sam, I'd like you to meet Victoria DiLeo."

Sam's expression quickly changed to one of shock and surprise, "Angelo's daughter?"

Victoria slowly nodded her head. The bottle in Sam's hand almost dropped onto the table.

Sam lowered his head to give himself a moment, but Michael caught the look his friend tried to hide; a fleeting glimpse of fear had crossed those normally bright and friendly features. It was only a second or two before Sam looked back up. A wary version of the friendly outlook he'd had before now in place. "You're dad talked a lot about his family. He was a good man. I'm sorry for your loss."

Michael knew Sam hated losing friends, who didn't? But it happened fifteen years ago and yet his friend looked as stricken as if he'd only heard about it yesterday. Michael tried to hide his surprise at Sam's reaction, but didn't think he was too successful as Sam cast a quick glance at him before fidgeting in his seat. Michael couldn't fathom why Sam wasn't hugging Victoria's rib cage into mush by now, loudly making outrageous claims to some daring-do that no one would be able to prove or disprove.

"Victoria was hoping you would share some of those SEAL stories you're always going on about," Michael couldn't believe he had to get Sam started on a conversation. He hid his worry behind the tall glass of iced tea as he took a slow sip. He leaned back in his chair so he could see both of the other people at the table. Victoria looked subdued, a crease of worry across her forehead.

"Stories? Sure. Sure, I've got lots," Sam hid an uncomfortable sigh under a short laugh. He picked up his beer bottle but didn't take a drink. He rolled the bottle between his palms and seemed to become lost in his thoughts.

"Sam?" Michael started to reach out for his friend's shoulder, but Sam looked up, seemed to realize he was being watched and became animated once again.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about the time Angelo and I met?" Sam leaned forward, and placed the beer back onto the table so he could use his hands to describe the events. He went on about a SEAL training exercise where this big mouthed Italian guy and he kept trading the leading points and it came down to the 800 yard sniper shot. Angelo took his shot, but the exercise was called before Sam was able to take his turn. A medical emergency had come from further back on the course and they had to make way for the medical services to get through. Sam and Angelo had started their friendship that day. Afterwards they always joked with grand bragging gestures over who would have won that exercise.

"You never found out?" Victoria asked. "Never had another opportunity to finish?"

"Nah," Sam leaned back in his chair. "There were lots of training exercises, but SEALs are team based. Sometimes we were placed on the same team. Sometimes not." He shrugged. "After training, we were on assignment and worked together."

"Mom used to tell me that dad had a very competitive nature," Victoria had her hands in her lap, hidden from Sam by the table. Michael watched as she jotted notes, but kept her eyes on the man across from her. "There's a cabinet full of trophies back home."

Michael could hear the challenge in her voice; he knew that she only had exaggerated stories and old memories to cling to. Sam must have realized this too, as he didn't reply with his usual bluster, but quietly agreed with the young woman, "Your dad was one of the best."

There was a stretch of silence that was fast approaching awkward. Michael watched as Sam continued to look uncomfortable, he was rubbing his right shoulder and eyeing his untouched beer, but Michael doubted that it was the bottle that Sam was seeing. Suddenly Sam rose from his seat. He snapped his fingers as he said, "I just remembered, I gotta go meet someone." Sam looked at his watch, "And I'm late. Sorry to run off like this, but I'm sure you know how it is?" He didn't give Victoria a chance to acknowledge if she understood or not as Sam had already backed two steps away and was bumping into their waitress.

"Ah, Katie. Sorry about that." He apologized as he stood up one of the empty bottles that had fallen over on her tray. He pulled a twenty from his pocket and placed it alongside the bottle. "This should cover the tab. Keep the change." Sam quickly headed toward the patio exit. He turned midway, "Victoria, it was a pleasure to meet you. Mikey, umm I'll …see you later?" With a quick wave of his hand, he was gone, blending in with the crowd on the sidewalk.

Victoria's eyes were wide, whether with surprise or shock, Michael didn't care to classify. She managed to close her gaping mouth before turning to Michael.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, looking hurt and confused.

"No." Michael was never good at explaining himself, he never thought he'd have to try and explain Sam. "You heard him. He was late. I'm sure it's nothing personal." He offered his most toothy grin as he took another long sip of his iced tea.


	3. Chapter 3

Big thanks to UnwittingCatalyst and Purdys Pal; two very fabulous ladies to whom I owe much.

There had been a question about when this story takes place. In my head this is somewhere late season one or early season two.

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><p>"<em>Presume not that I am the thing I was."<br>~ William Shakespeare_

Chapter 3

"I'm telling you, Fi, there's something wrong." Michael was agitated. He'd only taken two spoonfuls of yogurt before giving up the pretence of eating and placed the snack cup back onto the counter. Slammed it down actually, but Fiona thought this was a better reaction than throwing it across the room, which she suspected would have been Michael's reaction if she had offered a yogurt break when she had first arrived.

"So he wasn't in the mood to share his stories," Fiona took the spoon out from under Michael's fingers before he bent it completely out of shape. She gently placed it in the sink, not wanting to make a loud clanking noise of metal on metal. Michael was on edge and didn't need any encouragement to get louder than his surroundings. Fiona returned to Michael's side and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. She could feel the tension there and began rubbing in gentle circles to ease his bunched muscles.

"I should think you'd be grateful not to have to hear all those exaggerations and wild tales yet again." She knew she failed to lighten the mood when Michael's hand came down hard on the counter top.

"This has nothing to do with what I wanted to hear, Fi. Victoria DiLeo spent a lot of time researching her father's past. Her father was _a friend_ of Sam's, not just a buddy, Fi. They meant something to each other. They were together on that SEAL team a long time. He should have hundreds of stories to share."

"Maybe they're classified?" Fiona took the barely touched yogurt and dropped it into the garbage. She looked around, checking for other objects that might need a safer place to sit.

"They were on a team together for almost two years. They trained together before that." Fiona could see Michael was controlling his temper, but was far from becoming calm. She had been here for nearly twenty minutes and was still working on getting Michael to let go of his anger. "They were friends, Fi! Friendship isn't classified. Victoria's called me twice since that meeting at Carlito's. She went back home to Camp Blanding, but she wants to meet again."

"You are NOT going to northern Florida, Michael," Fiona warned him. No matter his anger, she would not let Michael be arrested, or worse, because of this 'thing' with Sam.

Michael seemed to appreciate her concerns as he offered her an honest smile, "No Fiona, I'm not leaving Miami. Victoria will be back down here on Friday."

Fiona nodded her head, happy to hear Michael wasn't foolishly letting his anger endanger his life. She was all for a good fight, but even she believed in fighting for _something_. This thing with Sam, just didn't qualify. For whatever it was, it certainly wasn't life threatening. She was having a hard time trying to figure out what it was exactly.

"So you'll meet with her on the weekend. Sam will have time to come up with a few stories he's willing to share. Problem solved." Fiona took a seat on the opposite side of the counter, relaxing for the first time since entering the loft.

"Not solved, Fi. Sam doesn't do personal appearances since meeting with Victoria. I'm telling you something is wrong. He's hiding something."

"For heaven's sake, Michael. You're making this molehill into a mountain. Maybe the stories are all about women and boozing. You can't expect Sam to share those with the man's daughter."

Michael shook his head, "Then why won't he just say that? Why can't he tell me what happened between him and Angelo? We were all friends." Michael looked straight into Fiona's eyes and repeated much quieter that Fiona had to strain to hear, "I thought we were friends." He looked lost.

Fiona finally understood. This had nothing to do with Sam avoiding Victoria DiLeo or even his unwillingness to talk about her father, Angelo. This was all about Michael not knowing every nuance of his best friend's life; almost as if it were a control issue.

Fiona asked, wanting to share this clarification, "You're worried about your relationship with Sam?"

"Relationship?" Michael crossed his arms over his chest and turned to look out the window over the sink. "We're just friends, Fi." The word 'friends' sounded awfully snide to Fiona's ears. He was hurt and Fiona was thunderstruck. This - whatever it was - really mattered to Michael.

Fiona knew her answers wouldn't be in Michael's words. He was too good at using those for cover. She watched his posture. She stepped around the counter to stand in front of Michael. She needed to see his eyes. She placed her hands on his arms to draw his attention back to her, so he couldn't hide by staring at the outside world.

"What does it mean to be Michael Westen's friend? How does someone even become your friend?"

"What do you want from me, Fi?" Michael sounded angry, but Fiona could tell it wasn't real. He was protecting himself, she could see fear and worry in his eyes. Maybe he was asking those same questions and couldn't come up with an answer.

"You and Sam are friends, Michael. How that happened is beyond me. The two of you are like oil and water. He jokes, you use scare tactics; he surrounds himself with buddies, you live in a bubble; he goes through women like most people use socks and you choose to focus on your burn notice over the opportunity to be one woman's man," she gave Michael a hard pinch reminding him who his one woman should be.

"Ow, Fi," Michael rubbed the sore spot. "Was that necessary?"

"Of course it was, Michael." Fiona smirked. "The point is, though I don't understand it, you and Sam are friends and have been for a very long time. Why don't you just ask him what's up? Worst case scenario, he tells you it's none of your damn business."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" Fiona wanted to shake some sense into Michael's stubborn head.

"He'd have to be willing to talk to me for longer than ten seconds so I could ask him."

"You've got to be kidding me?" That was the last straw! This was beyond ridiculous. "Men!" Fiona stormed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Michael asked.

With her hand on the knob, Fiona glared at Michael, "Two grown men should not be behaving like five year olds. What time are you meeting with Victoria on Friday?"

"Eight p.m. At Carlito's"

"Fine. We'll be there." The door slammed shut behind her.

After leaving the loft, Fiona called Sam on his cell. He answered and seemed a bit wary when she asked to meet him at a sports bar near his apartment, but he agreed and was waiting for her when she arrived. He had picked a booth and had chosen the seat nearest the door. Fiona sat across from him and gave him a friendly smile. He narrowed his eyes but remained quiet. Fiona knew she made an error when she tried to start light and mentioned the weather. Sam leaned back in his seat and gave her the patent Sam Axe look; one that implied she'd lost her mind.

"You're not good at subtlety, Fi," He waved off the approaching waitress before giving Fiona his full attention. "It happened a long time ago and it's none of your damn business." He slid to the edge of the seat, but paused before he stood up. "Tell Mike to let it go. It'll be better for everyone."

"Fine," she growled and had to grab Sam around the wrist to stop him walking away. He didn't try to pull free, but did glare in return. Fiona could tell Sam was going to be stubborn about this and needed incentive. She dug her nails into the soft skin on the underside of his wrist.

"Hey!" Sam cried in surprise.

Still holding onto Sam's wrist, with her nails close to drawing blood, Fiona smiled and waved to the empty seat with her free hand. Sam grudgingly sat back down. Fiona released his wrist which he quickly rubbed with his other hand all the while glaring at Fiona

"I'm not interested in your sordid past, Sam," Fiona leaned back into her booth seat. "What I want to know is if you mean to drive Michael crazy with your behaviour?"

"What?" Sam had a look of disbelief cross his face before he settled back into his care-free attitude. "You're making things up. Mike's fine. He understands that I just need a little time for myself."

Fiona felt her anger return. Were these men in her life really so blind? "Michael is NOT fine, Sam. He's sitting back at the loft wondering if he should shoot you the next time he sees you."

Sam made a derogatory noise as he waved away Fiona's concerns.

"I'm serious, Sam! Michael doesn't understand why you can't talk to him, and it's making him unhinged."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he stared at Fiona. She kept her eyes fixed on his, willing him to understand that this situation with Victoria DiLeo was putting his friendship with Michael in jeopardy.

"I'm sorry, Fi. I really am," Sam sighed. Fiona believed him but her heart fell when Sam continued, "But trust me, some things are better left unsaid."

Fiona leaned into the table, she implored him, "He's meeting with Victoria Friday night at eight. Michael needs to hear from you. You can't keep ignoring his phone calls."

Sam looked uncomfortable and couldn't meet her gaze. "I've answered all his calls, I'm just…busy. Look, I've gotta go. A buddy's waiting for me."

He stood and started towards the exit. Fiona stopped him, "Michael's not a buddy, Sam. He's your best friend."

Sam's head dropped, his chin nearly coming to a rest on his chest. He didn't turn around, but softly answered, "I know, Fi. I know." He shoved his hands in his pockets, lifted his head and slowly walked out of the bar.

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><p>Michael watched as Fiona slouched in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Michael tried to hide his smirk. They were half an hour early for their meeting with Victoria. He had ordered her a Bloody Mary, to help improve her mood, but so far it wasn't working.<p>

Michael would never admit it, but he felt better knowing that Sam was giving Fiona the same treatment. She had passed along the message telling him to leave Sam out of the reunion with Victoria. Fine, but he just couldn't understand why. It was supposed to be better this way; but better for whom? Michael couldn't recall feeling this mixed up since before he left home. It was one of the reasons why he had left.

Fiona must have been reading his thoughts. She tried to cheer him up. "Come on, Michael," she raised her glass and tipped it in salute, "Let's enjoy our evening out. You can better yourself in the art of making up stories and Victoria can feel a little closer to her father."

"Fi," Michael started to complain. He could sell a cover story and save his life, he could relate a mission for a de-brief, but he could not figure out how to talk about his history so a young woman could learn more about her father. Fiona wouldn't listen to any more excuses. So instead Michael sighed, resigned to his fate.

Fiona let him drink his iced tea in silence, allowing him the quiet to sort through his many missions and adventures to pick and choose those that he could share with Victoria. It felt as if he and Fiona had only been sitting for a few minutes when Victoria DiLeo appeared and Fiona waved her into the free seat between them.

Fiona introduced herself, "I hope you don't mind my joining you. But I've wanted to hear some of Michael's stories for a long time, myself."

Victoria shook Fiona's hand with a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm happy to share whatever stories Michael cares to offer." She cast a look around, "No one else will be joining us?"

"You mean Sam?" Fiona asked.

At Victoria's nod, Michael smiled and offered his prepared excuse, "Sam couldn't make it tonight."

"He's terribly sorry," Fiona jumped in, trying to lighten the blow.

Victoria nodded her understanding, but the look on her face expressed her disappointment. "I was hoping to ask him some questions. But it's possible he suspected as much."

Michael sat straighter in his chair. He leaned forward a bit, his curiosity piqued. Before he could ask Victoria what she was referring to, a shadow fell across their table as another person joined them.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Sam!" Fiona couldn't hide her surprise. She leaned to the side and grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed. He seemed just as surprised at her outward show of affection.

"Fi, nice to see you too." His dimpled grin teased her as she settled back into her seat with a 'hmmph'.

"Sam," Michael greeted with much less enthusiasm. "I didn't think you were free tonight."

"My buddy didn't need me, just a moving truck. I took care of that and here I am."

Both men eyed each other, sorting through the words not being said.

"Your friend is moving on a Friday night in the middle of the month?" Victoria asked, a look of doubt strong on her features.

Sam squirmed in his seat, and gave an uncomfortable laugh, "You know how it is, when the place you've been waiting for becomes free, you gotta snap it up."

"Of course," Victoria didn't sound convinced, but didn't linger on the topic. "I'm glad you decided to come along. I'm looking forward to hearing the stories only you can tell me."

"Loads of stories," Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over his other knee. Usually Sam was the epitome of calm, but Michael watched as Sam rubbed his fingers along the cuff of his pant leg as he clarified, "You do understand that many of our missions are still classified. But I'm happy to share as much as I can otherwise."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Victoria reached into her bag and pulled out a folder. Opening the cover she slid the package across the table until it rested in front of Sam, his eyes widening in recognition. "I want you to tell me about my father's last mission; the one where you let him die."


	4. Chapter 4

My deepest thanks to UnwittingCatalyst and Purdys Pal, for everything you do.

Thanks to everyone for your time in reading. It wouldn't be half as much fun writing without you.

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><p>"<em>Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."<br>~ George Bernard Shaw  
><em>

**Chapter 4  
><strong>

Michael sat waiting for Sam to explain that while Angelo's death was a tragedy, they had been In the middle of a battle with a terrorist group and death is sometimes unavoidable. There was no way Sam was personally to blame for Angelo's death.

Michael watched his friend take a few moments to slowly flip through the pages in the folder. Instead of offering answers Sam looked up, anger clear on his face. "Where did you get this? You shouldn't have this."

"A supervisor back at base knew I was researching my father and left this on my desk," Victoria matched Sam in anger. "Are you going to deny what it says?"

Sam closed the folder and held it tightly in his fingers as he stared at Victoria. Suddenly he bowed his head and took a deep breath. When he looked back up, Michael could sense a seething emotion rippling from him. He couldn't tell if it was anger or frustration, or something else entirely. Michael was startled by the realization that he didn't know, that he couldn't predict what the man beside him would do next.

With a flick of his wrist, Sam tossed the folder back to Victoria. "You should return that. Whoever the author is, they missed getting the reports from a few of the team." Sam stood and shoved his chair hard under the table. He took another deep breath before locking his eyes on Victoria. He gripped the top of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. "If you need me to be the one to take blame for the death of your father, I'm good with that." Sam pointed a shaking finger at the folder, pages now leaking out from between the covers, "But that should be burned before even more people get hurt."

"Mikey, I…" Sam turned his attention away from Victoria but seemed stunned when he looked at his friend. "Mike?" Sam's whole body registered shock. Michael knew Sam recognized the look of pain that had to be etched on his face. "Look, I'm real sorry brother, I never meant for you to…"

"To what, Sam?" Michael shifted his head to meet Sam's gaze. He hardened himself against the heartache he found on the older man's face. "You never meant for me to what?"

Sam's eyes closed for a moment, when they opened again Sam was stepping back. "I _am_ sorry, Mike." He turned and was gone, lost in the crowd of people that filled Carlito's on a Friday night.

Fiona stood, calling after him.

"Let him go."

Fiona turned on Michael, "What? This has gone too far Michael. He needs a chance to explain."

"He's had fifteen years of chances, Fi. You think one more would make a difference?"

Fiona's chest was heaving. Michael could tell she wasn't ready to let this go. He felt only mild surprise when she turned her attention to Victoria.

"Give me that folder."

With some trepidation, Victoria passed the folder across. As soon as Fiona's fingers closed on it, Victoria pulled her hand back, likely afraid Fiona would take more than just the papers. As she watched Fiona glance through the contents Victoria tentatively spoke up, "I'll need it back, when you're done."

Michael recognized the look Fiona threw at Victoria. It had been known to stop many men from coming any closer, or continuing their pursuit of the small Irish woman. Either Victoria was immune or just didn't recognize the danger.

"That information shouldn't be off the base," Victoria looked uncomfortable as she admitted this.

"Then you should have left it there!" Fiona's eyes blazed. Michael wasn't sure what was driving her, but Fiona had a determined look about her. He sat up straighter when she turned her attention back to him.

"And you! You should be the first one to deny everything this file says!"

With more calm than he felt, "Fiona," he started. When the woman he was talking to only adjusted the package in her arms, giving herself a free hand, perhaps to help adjust his attitude, Michael quickly explained, "Sam left. He didn't deny anything."

"Michael, you're an idiot," Fiona huffed, but didn't strike out physically. "When I figure this out, you will owe me a dinner somewhere nice. Do you hear me, Michael? Somewhere nice!" Then she too stormed out of Carlito's.

Once again, Michael found himself sharing an awkward silence with Victoria DiLeo.

* * *

><p>Fiona drove around Miami letting her temper cool. She knew where she needed to go, but she needed to be calm and collected when she arrived or her target would surely pick up on her mood and then she'd never get the answers she needed. When she finally felt back in control, Fiona turned toward the familiar address.<p>

She could feel her heart flutter as she knocked on the front door. There was the sound of loud footsteps coming nearer and Fiona took a deep breath to settle her nerves. The door was yanked open and a puff of cigarette smoke wafted out and enveloped her.

"Fiona! What a pleasant surprise. Come in." Madeline stepped back and made room for Fiona to pass. Madeline leaned out onto the front steps and took a look around. "Michael's not with you?"

"No, Madeline. It's just me. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I would stop by. We haven't had a chat in such a long time." Fiona made her way to the living room and curled a leg under her as she sat down on the sofa trying, for appearances sake, to make this just another friendly visit.

Madeline headed toward the kitchen, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Iced tea, if you have any," Fiona called back.

A few minutes later Madeline handed her a tall, cold glass of iced tea and then settled down on the armchair across from the younger woman.

"Why don't you tell me what my son has done now?"

Fiona smiled into her drink. Madeline Westen, with all of her blustering ways, managed to cut through the chase and jump right to the crux of the issue. Fiona decided it was probably the best way to get through this.

"There's a young lady who's brought up some old memories."

"Victoria?" Madeline guessed correctly.

"Yes, Victoria," Fiona couldn't help the resentment that had crept into her voice. She wished she had never heard of Victoria DiLeo.

"You and Michael aren't fighting over her?" Madeline sat up with concern. "She's just a kid. You're the only one Michael cares for."

"It's nothing like that, Madeline," Fiona assured the older woman, who nodded her head with relief and settled back into her chair. Fiona took a long sip of her drink, wanting to compose her thoughts so she could explain what the problem was.

"Victoria's father was a SEAL. He worked with Sam and Michael," Fiona started. She continued to explain how Sam wasn't anywhere near excited with dredging up these old memories as Michael expected; and that Madeline's son seemed to be taking it personally. Fiona also told how Sam stormed out of Carlito's and Michael's acceptance of his best friend being responsible for the death of Victoria's father. She held up the cursed folder that she had taken from Victoria. "This should explain the mission. I can only hope it also has the answers to settle things between Sam and Michael."

Madeline pulled out a fresh cigarette and was slow in lighting it. As she began a long draw of nicotine into her lungs, she squirmed in her seat until she found just the right spot and settled back into the stuffed chair. Fiona could tell that there was something on her mind. She waited patiently for Madeline to share her thoughts. When Madeline finally spoke, the words caught Fiona unprepared.

"You know Michael never had an easy childhood?"

Fiona nodded, "I suspected."

"He learned very early that people disappoint you," Madeline puffed out a cloud of smoke. She turned away from Fiona and focused on the window. "The more you need someone, the more they can hurt you. His father was especially good at teaching that." Another long draw on the cigarette and Madeline turned back to Fiona. "Did you get the chance to read any of Victoria's letters?"

Fiona shook her head, she hadn't read any of the letters, but was now wondering if she needed to find a way to get her hands on them too.

"I found them to be very informative." Madeline sniffed loudly before turning away again. "Angelo seemed to care about Michael the way a father should. The way his own father never seemed to quite manage." Madeline looked so very sad before she bolstered her way back to talking of Michael's past. "It takes a lot of work, even for appearances' sake, to be a family. With Michael and his father, it seemed a near impossible task."

Fiona could tell this was very hard for Madeline to talk about as the older woman paused again in her story telling. She didn't want to interrupt now that she was finally hearing about Michael's past, so she nodded, letting Madeline know she understood. The silence didn't stretch for too long before Madeline started again.

"But I think that Michael found a family of a sort, while he worked with Angelo DiLeo; one that didn't make it so hard to stay together."

"But Sam would have been a part of that," Fiona wasn't sure if things were becoming clearer or if she was even more confused.

"And now Michael thinks Sam's the reason that he lost it."

Fiona was trying to see things through Michael's perspective with his colourful past.

"Memories are powerful," Madeline said. She must have known Fiona was struggling to understand. "Those happy memories, you add to them, you let them grow. If that's all you have left, you hold on tight. You use them to protect yourself from the more…painful…ones. And if someone takes away that protection; if those good memories suddenly become the painful ones, well…" She shrugged as she tried to explain her son's irrational behaviour.

Fiona had been staring into the carpet, picturing past images in the time worn fibres. She glanced up and just caught a glimpse of Madeline's lined features. Fiona knew that Michael's past was a cause of heartache for his mother but it was much too late to change it now.

Madeline held her cigarette over the ashtray and with a quick flick of her finger, not only did the ashes fall, but so did her connection with the past. With a production of bringing the cigarette back up for another puff and blowing out a huge smoke cloud, Madeline's tone changed to one of complaint, "Not that Michael would ever say anything about any of this to me."

Fiona sighed. At least she knew where Michael got his abilities to direct, or better yet, misdirect attention. She took a moment to consider everything Madeline had told her. She couldn't help but feel saddened by Michael's childhood. She needed to think about a more cheerful time for him. "How do you think it happened? Sam and Michael's friendship?"

Madeline smiled and gave a short laugh. "The same way Sam did it to us. He just sort of works his way in, and then before you know it, you're counting on him to be there."

Fiona found herself agreeing. She certainly didn't remember making the decision that would allow Sam Axe into her circle of friends. He just was.

"So how do I go about straightening this out?" Fiona could feel the frustration building again. "Sam's hiding something and Michael's being stubborn."

"You've got the folder," Madeline pointed with the cigarette between her fingers to the file sitting on the couch beside Fiona. "Someone else must know what happened."

* * *

><p>Early the next morning Fiona was driving into the Everglades. It had taken no small amount of effort on her part to read through all those typed pages. They had been hard to understand at first, each report disjointed from the last. How Sam read those things on a regular basis for Michael was a mystery to her. She still had the splitting headache that had formed from the required focus to put together all the many pieces. She hated that she could relate to Michael's obsession with the little bits of paper that they had collected on his burn notice.<p>

Fiona slowed her car down. She should be close to where Madeline had directed her. She was looking for a trailer near the water. Finally! There it was. Lovely address, Fiona thought wryly – 1st dump on the left, three miles from the alligator nest.

She parked behind the beat up trailer, carefully stepping out onto the grass. She didn't want to disturb anyone who might be sleeping in the tall weeds. She didn't want them disturbing her either. Her eyes were alert as she made her way to the door. Knocking loudly, she called out, "Virgil. It's Sam's friend Fiona. I need to talk to you."

There were disturbing and creaky noises coming from within the trailer and then a loud smack on the edge of the door before it was slowly pushed open.

"Sorry about that. It sticks," Virgil looked the same as the last time Fiona saw him. Dishevelled and holding a half finished bottle of beer. "You wanna come in to talk?"

Fiona peered past the man in the doorway. The interior looked much worse than she expected. "This won't take long. Can we just talk out here?" She felt safer with the snakes and gators than the prospect of the trailer caving in on them and no one around to provide a rescue.

"Sure," Virgil sighed as he stepped out and sat on a stump near the extinguished fire pit. "Sam always prefers to talk out here, too."

Fiona couldn't think of a polite way to answer that, and as she needed his help she changed the topic. "You and Sam must have spent a lot of time in the elements while you served with the SEALs."

Virgil didn't seem to mind the shift, in fact he seemed happy to talk about the old days. "We sure saw a lot that Mother Nature could dish out. Never had a boring day. You know the SEALs have a saying – the only easy day was yesterday."

Fiona nodded. She didn't want to linger, either on the vast subject of the ex-SEALs glory days or out here in the swamp Virgil called home. She needed to get him onto the story she came to hear. "Yesterday, Sam didn't have an easy day. As a matter of fact, yesterday was pretty awful."

Virgil looked at her with concern, "What can I do to help?"

Just the reaction Fiona was hoping for. She reached into her bag and pulled out the folder she'd taken from Victoria. "What can you tell me about this mission?"

Virgil had to put down his beer bottle so he could hold the folder open and read the contents. He skimmed through the first couple of pages. He looked up with a scowl on his face. "What do you want to know about this for?"

"Angelo DiLeo's daughter has accused Sam of causing her father`s death."

Virgil flipped the folder closed and held it out to Fiona. "That's impossible."

She didn't reach out to take the file back. "Why? There are reports in there," she nodded towards the papers in Virgil's hands, "That imply the rear guard," she paused with a sigh, "…that Sam hadn't provided cover for the full team to make it out of the compound, and Angelo DiLeo was killed while exiting."

"It doesn't matter what these say," Virgil referred to the file with a tilt of his hand. "No one was able to provide cover, least of all Sam."

"Just tell me what happened, Virgil," Fiona was losing patience. She wanted to the man to stop beating around the bush and tell her what she needed to know.

"The cell we were after, they knew we were coming," Virgil explained. "As soon as we were on our way out from setting charges, explosions started going off all around us and they weren't ours. Most of the team managed to find cover; Sam was able to get off a couple of shots, but that's it."

"What do you mean, that's it?" Fiona was alarmed over what she was about to hear. It happened a long time ago, and she already knew the outcome, but her heart raced just the same.

Virgil shrugged, he knew he couldn't change the past. It was what it was. "The tree he was perched in took a hit. Sam was thrown through the air and landed thirty feet away with a branch through his shoulder. He was one of the guys that had to be med-evac'd outta there."

Fiona was stunned. "Then why is he accepting blame for Angelo's death. From what you say, you were lucky to only have lost one member of your team."

"Probably has something to do with the argument they had before going out." Virgil tossed the folder so it would land at Fiona's feet. He took a long swallow from the bottle of beer he was now able to pick up and hold. "If you want the whole story, you should get the official reports."

"These aren't the real reports?" Fiona toed the papers lying in the dirt at her feet.

"A lot of time has passed since that mission, but even I know those are not the reports that were filed with the Navy brass. Those've got the gist of what happened, but they're missing a lot of the details. Ain't no one on the team ever accused Sam of causing Angelo's death. Who ever put that file together is trying to re-write history." He took a long drink and finished off the beer. "Sam coulda told you that."

"He won't talk about the mission. Maybe it has to do with the fight you mentioned," Fiona pressed for more information.

"Look, I know you're a friend of Sam's or I wouldn't even have told you this much," Virgil looked down as his palms rolled the empty bottle between them. "But whatever was between him and Angelo, it would never come out in the field. Those guys were close, but they were professionals. Sam was still on medical leave when he got out of the hospital. The first thing he did was go to see Angelo's wife. She might be able to answer some of your questions."

"Thanks, Virgil. You've helped a lot." Fiona stood up to leave. "Sam won't hear about any of this from me," she stared at Virgil with narrowed eyes causing him to throw up his hands as he leaned away from her.

"He won't hear anything from me either."

Fiona nodded, happy the older man understood. She gave him a friendly smile, letting him know he would live another day. "I'm sure he'd say 'thank you' if he did know."

"Sure. No problem. That's what friends are for." Virgil muttered as Fiona finally picked up the folder and made her way back to her car. She watched him standing there, shaking his head as he grew smaller in her review mirror.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you, thank you, thank you to UnwittingCatalyst and Purdys Pal. What would I do without you?

I am grateful to all you kind readers for sharing your time with me.

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><p>"<em>They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them<em>_ yourself."  
>~ Andy Warhol<em>

**Chapter 5**

"Look Maddy, all I'm saying is: I don't think it's a good idea. That's all," Sam sighed into his phone.

"For heaven's sake, Sam. I need help here!" Madeline's voice screeched over the line. "Do you have any idea how much a plumber charges for this sort of thing? The last time you looked at it, you said it was just a loose connection; and I'm not paying a hundred and eighty dollars for some guy with a beer belly and a butt-crack to put a wrench to a wingnut."

"There are no wingnuts..." Sam paused to take a deep breath and rub a hand over his tired eyes. The woman could recognize and correctly label every tool stored in her garage. He was being played but gave one last effort before falling for her tricks. "Have you called Mike?"

"Of course I did," Madeline snapped, "He's not answering my calls. Are you guys on another job?"

Sam covered his unease with a short laugh. "I wouldn't worry about it, Maddy. He's probably just working out, you know how he is. He doesn't want to break his stride."

"Yeah, whatever. So are you coming over to help me or what?"

Sam looked around his quiet apartment, his eyes settling on the old ship's clock his grandfather gave him as an Annapolis graduation gift. Sam figured he could get to Maddy's, tighten the loose pipe fitting and be out before Mike's conscience got the better of him and he returned his mom's calls. "I'll be right over."

* * *

><p>Sam didn't know how long he'd been at it, but he was prepared to swear he'd still be here long after China was buying American automobiles.<p>

"Were you under here trying to fix this yourself, Maddy?" Sam called out from under the kitchen sink.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sam. You know that I don't touch the plumbing. That's what I have you boys for."

Something about Maddy's tone made Sam lift his head clear of the dark recess of the lower cabinet. He eyed the older woman as she bustled about the kitchen, a plume of cigarette smoke following behind her. He frowned as he reached for the pipe wrench that was lying on the floor beside his knee. "Has Mike called you back yet?"

Madeline continued with her puttering. "Oh, I think he must be busy, like you said." She turned to finally look at him. Sam had a sense of discomfort settle over him. Usually when he worked on Madeline's home projects she'd set him to task and go off to do her own thing. Today she was hovering and... keeping an eye on him?

"Don't you have a yoga class or underwater something or other?"

Madeline gave a light laugh and waved away some of the accumulating smoke. "You mean my aqua aerobics? No. That one ended. I'm now in deep water running. It's on Thursdays."

"Uh huh," Sam knew it down in his bones, Madeline was up to something. He leaned back under the offending pipes and muttered quietly to himself, "Something's deep all right."

"What was that, Sam?" Madeline asked.

Sam didn't need to see Madeline's face to know that she was laughing at him. Whatever the joke was, he was not going to make it any worse. He waved off any comments with his free hand and returned to work on the plumbing.

* * *

><p>"Michael, stop your complaining. I just have to pick up my Walther and we can be on our way. Won't take but a minute." Fiona cajoled as she closed the car door. She watched as Michael slowly pulled himself from the passenger side of the car. He paused while he still had one foot resting on the door frame. He looked ready to either leap back into the car or make a mad dash down the alley way.<p>

"Why are we parked _here_?" he asked as he looked around the littered alley and brushed away a lone leafy branch poking from between two warped fence boards.

"Two houses down, I think it's Mrs Simpkins, has started a one woman neighbourhood watch from the rocker on her front porch. I'm pretty sure it was her that alerted the police to my last borrowed car." When Michael still refused to move, Fiona's patience came to an end.

"Honestly, Michael. It's times like this that I forget you were ever a competent spy." She went around to the passenger side of the car and pulled on his arm until he was out of the way of the closing door.

"Why can't I wait in the car?" Michael asked, looking over his shoulder as they continued to walk away from the vehicle.

Fiona didn't answer, just glared at him until his ego caused him to square his shoulders and keep step with the woman at his side. They entered the yard through the back gate and had to step around several potted plants that had long since withered away.

Fiona stopped suddenly and grabbed Michael's arm to direct his attention to a colourful basket sitting amongst a dozen others. "You know I'd completely forgotten about this lovely flower pot being back here. I'm going to have to make a point of refilling this one and placing it on the front step."

"Now, Fi? What about grabbing your Walther and being on our way?" Michael stuffed his hands into his pockets, just so they wouldn't be readily available for Fiona to pass along the grime covered pot, expecting him to carry it to the other side of the house right this minute.

"You've heard the saying – You need to stop and smell the roses?" Fiona noticed Michael's stance and sighed. "But you have to **have** roses in order to smell them."

"I"ll buy you some from the corner market. We can put them in a glass vase and make them a centerpiece and everything," Michael looked from all the dead potted plants towards the back door of the house. It was only five steps away. Under his breath he muttered, "They'll last longer."

Fiona heard the comment and swatted Michael's shoulder. "Fine. I'll expect a bouquet of roses with dinner."

"Of course. Can we get the Walther now?"

Fiona watched for shadows through the windows and seeing none, she happily agreed to the request. "Of course, Michael."

She quickly unlocked the door and ushered Michael through. She pushed him far enough into the kitchen so she could close and lock the door behind her.

"What are you doing, Fi?" Michael watched her with a curious look.

"Hmmm? Oh nothing." Fiona pushed Michael into the kitchen, around the toolbox sitting on the floor in front of the sink and toward the doorway into the dining area. She felt like she had run into a brick wall when he came to a sudden stop.

"Fi?"

Fiona knew from the icy tone that Michael had just come face to face with her and Madeline's plan. She leaned around Michael and saw a very uncomfortable Sam standing at the dining table with a bottle of beer in his hand. From the position of the chairs, he and Madeline had been sitting, chatting and he only stood up when the noises from the kitchen alerted him to their presence. The look on his face made it clear that he wasn't sure what he needed to do now. Fiona made the decision for him.

"Sit down. Both of you." She had to give Michael a push to get him moving again.

"Fi…"

"Look, I should just go home…"

"I said," Fiona pulled out a chair for Michael, "Sit. Down."

Both men knew it was futile to argue and would be painful if they ignored the command. Michael crossed his arms over his chest and sat down, keeping his spine straight and rigid. Sam sighed as he retook his seat and slumped against the back of the chair. Fiona smiled.

"It's time for you two to clear the air," Madeline pointed at the men who wouldn't even so much as look at each other. One stared straight ahead, eyes boring holes into the front door, the other watching the changing shadows coming through the bottle in his hand.

Madeline brought her hand down hard on the table. Even Fiona jumped at the unexpected noise. "No one is leaving until this is sorted out."

"Madeline, you can't expect this to be worked out just because you said so," Sam tried to interject a little logic.

"Then I guess you'll be here for a long time," Madeline crossed her arms over her chest; her pose remarkably similar to her son's.

"All righty, then."

"Is that all your macho SEAL ego has to say?" Madeline pointed a steady finger towards Sam's chest, "You," A quick glare Michael's way put an end to the smirk that was starting to grow, "And Michael," the finger now aimed at her son. There was a pause long enough that both men began to squirm in their seats, "have been behaving like children."

"Don't say that, Madeline," Fiona stood beside Michael's chair.

Michael leaned his head back to smile his gratitude to her. Sam was busy nodding his head in agreement.

Fiona smiled devilishly as she stepped closer to Madeline's side. "That's an insult to children."

"Hey!" Sam almost pulled himself out of his chair, stopping just short of having his butt actually leave the seat.

Michael pulled his arms in tighter across his chest and his frown, if possible, became even deeper.

Madeline smiled, but the anger from her voice had not lessened. "Sam, why don't you start by explaining why you're so **damn** willing to take on the blame for the death of a **soldier** during a **war**?"

Michael's head moved to where he could actually see Sam. He had a look of wary expectation on his face and his arms relaxed ever so slightly. Fiona wanted to label it hope but it died before it had a chance to grow.

"Honestly, Maddy, that's none of your _damn_ business." Sam didn't sound irritated or even annoyed. He was back to watching the color changes of the shadows through his beer bottle.

Fiona wanted to leap across the table, grab Sam by the collar of his shirt and drive his head into the wall behind him. What stopped her was the thought that even though Sam might appreciate having something he could physically fight, he wasn't likely to respond. Shoulders slumped, eyes down, fingers slowly turning the bottle this way and that, he didn't even appear to be here in the dining room with the rest of them. It was one of the most disheartening things Fiona had ever seen. She almost rather she had ended the man's life with a beer bottle to the back of his head back in the early days than to see this.

Sam placed the bottle on the table and slowly stood. He appeared older than his fifty one years. "Thanks for the beer, Maddy. I'll see myself out."

Fiona knew she couldn't waste this chance. It would be far too long before another arrangement could be put in place. Before Sam took two steps, Fiona said, "I talked with Victoria's mother."

Sam stopped and turned to face Fiona, gauging her for the slightest sign of deceit. "Why would you do that, Fi?"

"Because between the two of you, things were going to hell in a hand basket," she tossed her hair over her shoulder, "and I don't do wicker."

"I thought you liked my chair?"Madeline pointed to the tall wicker chair in the corner of the living room.

"Not now, Madeline," Fiona put her arm around the older woman and turned her back to the men at the table.

"Fine, you talked to Carmen. That changes nothing," Sam now had his arms across his chest, but he hadn't moved any closer to the front door.

"It changes everything, Sam. She showed me the last letters Angelo sent home."

"I've read Angelo's letters," Michael looked from Sam to Fiona. "Which ones are you talking about, Fi?"

Fiona shook her head, "You haven't seen these ones, Michael. Victoria didn't know about them either." Fiona looked to Sam, wanting to make sure he understood. "Until now."

"What? You're making that up." Sam watched as Fiona shook her head. He looked lost as he took the two steps back to sit in his chair. "Why?" He was confused. He leaned forward, his hands at his hair line, holding his head. "Why change her mind after all these years? I was never going say anything."

Fiona answered, "I think that's why."

"What's this all about?" Madeline asked. Michael was turning from Fiona to Sam, looking almost as confused as she was.

"Sam?" Fiona looked expectantly at him.

"You don't understand. She could lose everything." The look in Sam's eyes begged Fiona to stop this.

"You're not making sense, Sam." For the past three days, Fiona felt as if she finally understood all of Sam's misguided, honour bound acceptance of the situation. Now she wasn't so sure.

"This wasn't your battle, Fi. You should have left it well enough alone."

"Wasn't my battle?" Fiona was incensed. "Then who's battle was it?"

Sam seemed surprised by her sudden anger. "It was mine. And I lost it long ago."

"You have to fight in order to lose!"

"Fi? Sam? What are you talking about?" Fiona wanted to erase the look of total confusion from Michael's face but she was no longer sure she could do that.

"Angelo met someone. He wrote Carmen, told her their marriage was over," Fiona had read the words herself. She had never met Angelo, but she could read between the lines. Carmen admitted to complaining in her letters about being overwhelmed with household affairs and telling Angelo he needed to be home. Angelo was a navy SEAL and couldn't just up and leave. He responded out of frustration and loneliness, finding someone who could understand his side.

"That's what you fought about. Just before the mission and Angelo was killed," Fiona's glare openly dared Sam to contradict her. "Carmen told me how you came to her, and you swore that Angelo came to his senses and was planning on coming home on his next leave. They were going to work it out."

Madeline sat down. She reached across the table to take Sam's hands in her own. "It wasn't your fault, Sam. You were his friend. You stood up for his marriage. Angelo's dying was just unfortunate timing."

Sam withdrew his hands from the comfort being offered. "That's right. Unfortunate timing." Sam stood, looking more despondent than before. "As much fun as this was, I gotta go."

"Who was it, Sam?" Michael asked. Fiona remembered what Madeline had said about memories being a form of protection and Michael was losing those walls of fortification layer by layer.

"It doesn't matter, Mike. It was a long time ago and Angelo never stopped loving his family. Not a one of 'em." The same look Sam had given Fiona, begging her to accept his answers and stop this conversation was now being focused on Michael. It worked about as well.

"Who was it, Sam?" Michael's gaze was solely on his friend.

"It's over. It doesn't matter."

Michael stood up and leaned forward with his hands on the edge of the table. His face becoming red with barely contained anger. "Who was it, Sam?"

Fiona, worried that Michael might make his next request a physical one, offered the name she had read from the letters. "Cassandra Martin."

Sam's plea of "Don't!" was too late to stop the name from being said or heard.

Michael sat down, repeating the name, muttering it, trying to associate it with a face, any recollections he kept stored away.

"Who is she?" Madeline wanted to know. She looked between her son, rubbing his temple, stirring his memories loose and Sam rubbing his shoulder; with his eyes closed, he looked defeated. "Was she important to either of you?"

Michael was shaking his head, "She was arrested, went to prison. She had sold American military secrets to known enemies." He looked up, "Her sources were never revealed."

"None of that came out until after the mission. Angelo never knew," Sam begged for Michael to believe him. "He would never sell out his country, his team… or his family."

Michael's narrowed eyes accused Sam, "You knew."

Fiona stepped to Michael's side. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "Sam was in a military hospital for weeks after the mission. He didn't know."

"Sam?" Michael knew Sam had scars, every soldier did, but he didn't know each one's story.

"Shoulder. Branch. Bad combination," Sam pointed to his right shoulder, the same one he'd been rubbing at since this whole episode began. Now that everything was out Sam finally talked willingly. "I couldn't see what good would come from telling the brass about the connection between Angelo and Cassandra. She was arrested with no hope of ever seeing the outside of prison walls again, and Angelo…" Sam sighed, "He paid for his mistake. Why make his family pay too? They'll lose everything. Angelo's benefits and pension paid for the house and Victoria's degree."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Michael's hurt filled eyes glanced up at Sam.

"I couldn't bear to see you like this back then any more than I like it now." Sam rubbed a hand across his eyes before he returned Michael's gaze. "I made a promise to Carmen. I thought it would be easy. I would never tell anyone about Angelo's indiscretion. Like I said, Angelo paid enough. His family shouldn't have to."

There was a quiet pause, everyone respectful of Angelo DiLeo's sacrifice.

"I really am sorry, Mikey," Sam was heading towards the front door. "Maddy, from now on, stay away from the plumbing."

"Sam," Michael called out, but the door had already closed.


	6. Chapter 6

I must apologize for being so late in posting this final chapter. It has been written for quite some time, but my Mum had some age related issues and I have been out of town trying to help my siblings sort things out. My family is settled and my computer and I are reunited.

Much thanks and appreciation go to UnwittingCatalyst and Purdy's Pal. You make me smile. =)

Thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for the story to finish.

* * *

><p>"<em>I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be."<em>

_~Douglas Adams_

**Epilogue**

Sam expected somebody – Mike actually – but the sandals that appeared in his sight line surprised him. He was sitting at the far end of the same bar where he had met up with Fiona a few days ago. For the last twenty minutes he'd been nursing his second drink and still wasn't any closer to finishing it or removing his carcass from this seat and carting it back to his empty apartment. The amber liquid swirled around mostly melted ice cubes and made for a murky looking glass, as he wondered about answers to questions he wasn't sure he had any business even asking. Those sandals only brought on more questions and he certainly didn't have answers for them either. The sandals shuffled as the body belonging to them settled on the bar stool beside him.

"A little out of your way, isn't it?" Sam asked.

Victoria shrugged. "I hear this place makes a great mojito."

"The mint ones are good. The peach…" Sam wavered his hand indicating so-so. "Now the Scotch…," he took a long swallow from his glass, forgetting that it was mostly melted ice. He prevented the grimace from becoming vocal, but couldn't completely hide his facial reaction. "top of line." His voice sounded funny to his own ears.

Victoria sighed. "I'm not here to write a column."

"Why are you here?" Sam thought he had a right to a little fore warning. If there were going to be further accusations, he'd need way more alcohol.

"I wanted to let you know that my mother and I talked. Something we haven't really done before." The shy smile let him know that whatever the talk was about, it ended well. He could only hope that Victoria found some peace with the answers her mother supplied.

"I'm happy for you." And he was too. She hadn't done anything to cause the hurt and pain that had fallen on her family. She deserved some closure, but Sam couldn't help worrying how far Angelo's secret might spread. With Cassandra Martins' name clearly mentioned in one of Angelo's letters home, all it would take is one wrong thing being said by either Carmen or Victoria and the Navy would have all the proof it would need to rescind Angelo's honourable status. Carmen could lose the house and restitution would have to be made for money spent on Victoria's degree. Not to mention what NCIS would do to him. Sam sighed as he watched the nearly extinguished bergs of ice slide from one side of its amber sea and crash into the other as he slowly rolled the base of his glass back and forth.

Still, Victoria looked settled with the past. It was more than he thought he'd get when all this started more than a week ago. Sam hoped that Angelo would be happy with that.

Victoria signalled the bartender and when he drew near enough to hear, she ordered another scotch on the rocks for Sam.

"You looked like you could use a fresh one," she explained.

Sam shrugged, "I wouldn't say no."

"You may even find they taste better when they're not half watered down."

Sam had to look over at Victoria, just to make sure that the smile he heard in her voice was present on her face. He wanted to return the gesture, but couldn't manage more than a ghost of his usual grin.

"What are you going to tell your friends, the people in your office, about what you learned on your trips to Miami?"

"You know, that's a funny thing," Victoria looked thoughtful, "I was curious when you said more people could be hurt by that file, so I called my supervisor at Camp Blanding to see if he had any more information, and he didn't know what I was talking about. Apparently that mission is listed as Restricted. He couldn't show it to me even if he wanted to."

Sam was pleased to hear that there was at least one military guy who knew what protocol was. Sam chalked up Victoria's lack of concern over the origins of the information as acceptance of an office blunder. However, he'd have to make a few phone calls, get in touch with a couple of buddies. He would have to tell Fi, she'd see that Mike knew about this new invasion.

"What's next for you and your mom?" Sam wasn't sure if he'd get an answer, but his curiosity had him wondering about the possible reply.

Victoria watched her fingers as they clasped tighter together. "Mom and I agree, we'll make things right. She'll sell the house and move in with me. We'll donate the money to a Navy Charity. I can't give back my degree, but mom says the government owes me that much for taking my dad away in the first place."

Sam wasn't surprised that Carmen would want to dole out her own version of justice. It was too bad that it included giving up the family home, but he knew if Carmen had made up her mind, it wasn't going to be changed by anyone.

"I'm sure there'll be sailors who appreciate the gesture," he said. "There may be some pretty tough questions if any of the Navy higher ups become curious about your sudden generosity. You'll need to give them some pretty clear answers." Sam knew with the Navy's desire to keep their reputation clean, if the brass smelled even the slightest hint of scandal, they'd call out the dogs until every last morsel of their lives was laid bare. Sam took a bitter swallow of his Scotch, to keep away visions of being subjected to chats in small rooms with old tables and wobbly chairs.

Sam was a little caught off guard when he realized Victoria had moved to stand beside him and felt the warmth of her hand resting on his shoulder. "Mom told me that you believed dad paid enough for everybody." She gave a gentle squeeze of comfort as she said, "We think you've paid enough, too."

Sam was at a loss for words. Victoria didn't give him too long to wonder as she explained, "Mom's already burned that last letter. There's no longer any connection between dad and …that awful woman." Sam could understand the reluctance to speak Cassandra Martin's name. He didn't want to ever have to say it either.

"Then why sell the house?" Sam asked.

"It feels right." Victoria smiled, "It also gives mom peace. And burning that letter is like erasing that chapter in her life. As far as she's concerned dad was planning on coming home and that's all she needs to know." She leaned in and gave a soft peck on Sam's bristled cheek. "You gave her that, and I thank you."

Victoria stepped away, slipping her purse strap high up on her shoulder. "I won't be digging into any more of my dad's missions. I know everything I need to. My dad was a SEAL and he had a great team backing him up; and I'll take on anyone who disagrees." She reached out and took Sam's hand and squeezed. "Thank you, Sam. I only wish it hadn't caused you so much grief for my family to find this peace."

Sam couldn't help himself. He stood and pulled Victoria into a hug and meant every word when he said, "You or your mom need anything, you call me. OK?"

Victoria wiped a finger under her eye, taking away the wetness that had built up there. "You're on speed dial."

Sam smiled, it was nice to know that Victoria considered his feelings enough to exaggerate like that. He watched her as she walked out of the bar. He doubted that he'd ever see her again, but felt sure that Angelo's family would be okay.

As Sam turned back to his seat, he came face to face with Michael Westen.

"Holy crap, Mike! You tryin' to give a guy a heart attack?" Sam slowly let himself down onto his bar stool.

"Sorry, Sam."

Michael's cheerless tone brought on a brief bout of worry, but Sam looked into his friend's eyes and could tell that he was sorry for more than just surprising him. Michael had his hand on the back of the bar stool that Victoria had just vacated. Sam could tell that Michael was waiting for permission to sit down. It was a weird sense of power to know that he could send Michael Westen packing. All he had to do was turn to the bar and pick up his Scotch on the rocks and drink until he couldn't remember what he was drinking for.

But instead Sam asked, "You prefer ice tea or something stronger?"

"I could do with a beer," Michael gratefully accepted the peace offering as he took his place in the empty seat. He still looked uncomfortable and wouldn't look Sam in the eye. Sam was willing to wait it out. The fact that Michael was sitting here said all Sam needed to know. Still, it would help if he could get his friend to see it too.

"Your idea to send Victoria?" Sam asked.

"She called mom's looking for you," Michael admitted. "Between Fi and Ma they made a few phone calls. Once a bartender said 'yes' they called her back and sent me to make sure you were alright."

"Nice to know I'm predictable," Sam picked up his glass of scotch but only swirled the liquid around.

Michael gave a small laugh. "If it's any consolation, it took more than a dozen calls to find the right place." He looked around the quiet pub. "Fiona said she wouldn't have found you if you hadn't met her here last week."

That was something that made Sam smile. Out of this whole debacle, Fiona was the biggest surprise. Sam knew he and Fiona were friends, he just never realized that she knew it. He'd have to come up with a special nickname for her, just to say 'thanks for sticking by me'. She'd hate it and threaten some part of his anatomy. Ahh, now that's friendship with Fiona Glenanne. The dimple in Sam's left cheek began to deepen.

Michael must have been thinking along similar lines. "You're my friend, Sam. Always have been. Things got a little murky there, but they're clear now."

Sam felt something in his chest welling up on him. He took a quick drink of his scotch to help push it back down. Hearing Michael call things murky was as close as he'd ever heard the man admit to being wrong.

"I know it wasn't easy for you, this past week," Sam said, knowing that was putting it lightly. He had always known Michael would be hurt by Angelo's conduct, it was the one of the reasons Sam never shared any of that information with his friend. But Sam never expected that Michael would react so markedly on the side of doubt over Sam's actions. The last thing Sam wanted was to be the one putting cracks in the man's veneer. Beside him, Michael was nodding his head.

"How many times have you told me that you don't like my situation, but that you get it? Or, you agreed with me and said you hate those kinds of situations?" Michael was watching him now and Sam was careful with his reactions, not sure what his friend was looking for.

"This last week has been hell, Sam," Michael looked sad and beaten down. Sam hated seeing his friend like this, especially knowing it was his actions that caused it. Michael turned glossy eyes to him as he admitted; "Now it's my turn to tell you, I wish it were different"

Sam wondered if the 'it' Mike was referring to was Angelo's affair or his act of covering it up. Sam expected the 'it' included Angelo dying on that god forsaken mountain. He knew it was all the above when Mike continued.

"But I get it. If things were reversed, I wouldn't have done things much differently than you did."

Sam sat back in his chair and just stared at the man next to him. The day was just full of surprises. The next thing he knew a joyful laugh bubbled up and he was slapping his best friend's shoulder.

"Hey bartender," Sam called out, "a beer for my friend here."

"Thanks, Sam" Michael's smile was wide and toothy.

* * *

><p>It was three days later and Sam smiled as his elbow was jostled. Michael and Fiona were settling themselves in the chairs on either side of him. He had already ordered and their drinks were on the patio table waiting.<p>

"How was Nobu's?" Sam asked, glad he was able to use his contacts to make the short notice reservation at the high end sushi restaurant for his friends.

"Lovely, Sam. Too bad you couldn't make it last night." Fiona settled her Burberry sunglasses over her eyes as she leaned back to enjoy the warmth of the sun on her bare shoulders.

"Look sister, I can take a hint. The Baretta wasn't necessary," Sam laughed at the memory of Fiona caressing her weapon as she told him it was a reservation for two only.

"Just making sure there were no misunderstandings, Sam."

"If there's one thing about you, Fi, you're always very clear."

Fiona smiled as she took a sip of her iced tea. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam turned to Michael. "Maybe another time?"

"The future is hard to predict, Sam." Michael smiled as he brought his iced tea up to his lips.

"That it is, my friend. That it is." Sam took a drink of his mojito.

"Any luck finding out who put that folder together?"

"Unfortunately not," Sam reached under his chair for the folder Fiona had taken from Victoria over a week ago. There was no need to return the falsified documents to the Navy. Deep in the Navy's files the classified documents still rested. Sam verified that through several buddies.

"These files were done by experts though." Sam pulled a page out, rubbing at the old Navy Emblem at the top. "The stamps are from the right era and everything."

"You know, you could have saved me a lot of time and effort if you just pointed out that these were faked from the beginning," Fiona used the straw to stir the ice cubes around her drink.

"I did. Next time listen." Sam shoved the page back into the folder and dropped it onto the table.

Fiona sat up in her chair. She lifted her sunglasses up and slid them on top of her head. "I do not decipher coded messages, Sam. You telling Victoria that the author was missing some reports from team members does not scream out at me that the whole file is a fake."

"Like I said, you need to listen." Sam knew it was coming, and he turned as her blow hit his shoulder. He even managed to annoy her more by keeping the smile of satisfaction on his face. How he had missed this and was glad to have it back.

"So what does it all mean?" Fiona asked Michael, ignoring Sam's dimpled grin. "What was the purpose of feeding Victoria the wrong information? Other than to prove you still have a long way to go in dealing with your personal issues."

Sam almost choked on his mojito and was coughing just to start his lungs working properly again. He managed a watery look at the man beside him. He didn't look surprised by the comment and Sam could only assume that a lot of last night's dinner conversation was Fiona telling Michael off; or as she would put it, setting Michael straight. Sam didn't want to be swept back up into the miseries of the past week. He and Mikey had reached a peaceful accord in the traditional guy method - they skirted the issue and drank some alcohol. They were good.

Fiona, however, still had that glint that most females get when they are planning on improving their partners. It scared most men, and coming from Fiona Glenanne it scared Sam. He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be embarrassing for himself and even worse for Mike, so he nudged her shin under the table instead. Fiona returned the love with a hard boot from her very sturdy, and yet always fashionable, footwear.

Michael didn't seem to notice their silent conversation, as he was lost in the depths of his cold drink. "I think someone was trying to separate us. Take Sam out of the equation."

"Your burn notice friends messing with you again?" Sam didn't like the sound of that. It had come too close to succeeding. Someone knew more about them than he liked.

Michael wasn't happy about it either. "My family and friends will always be targets. Maybe it's time for you two to move on?"

"Michael, hasn't this little episode taught you anything?" Fiona was pulling her sunglasses back down. "We're stronger when we're together. It's when we stand alone that we're weak." This time the smack to his bicep was unexpected and Sam winced aloud. "Right, Sam?"

"I'm not gonna agree with you just_ because_ you hit me," Sam rubbed at the red marks appearing on his arm.

Sam watched as a grin appeared on Michael's face. It was still a bit of relief to know that their friendship had made it through the events of the past week. If anything, Michael was acting grateful for the friendship the three of them shared. Yet it was so Michael Westen to offer one more chance for them to distance themselves from his crazy world. "This won't be the end. They'll try again."

"Stop worrying, Michael. We'll deal with it." Fiona took a long drink and sighed up into the sunshine.

Sam watched his friends. Michael shrugged and accepted the fact he had friends. Fiona looked happy and relaxed. So Sam smiled and fit in, but he felt a nervous energy and knew it would be soon enough before they were back in the thick of things.

Fin


End file.
